Silver Side Up
by Faux Pax
Summary: As Sam and Dean search for Kevin and the tablet, they will come to discover that closing the gates of Hell forever may not be as much of a victory as they expected. At the same time, they must team up with a group of fallen angels, hunters from the future, and a few friends they had long thought dead, to track down a demon a hundred times worse than Crowley could ever hope to be.
1. The New Black

_Silver Side Up_

_Chapter One:_

_The New Black_

_2027_

_Elkins, West Virginia _

Two months ago, the Jameson estate had been as glorious and magnificent as anyone could imagine, but not because of an excess of finery. Everything about it had been Spartan to the core. There had been no servants, no crystal chandlers, and no lavish paintings at every turn. In fact, it had been about as close to a military complex as one could get without calling government attention.

Nothing less was expected of the Hunter's Sanctuary; but now it was nothing but a scorched pile of ruins. The bodies had been salted and burned but Ben knew ghost still haunted the halls—and they weren't the kind of ghost that a few salt rounds would scare—these ghosts only lived on in his mind.

Ben stepped quietly over the broken shell of a TV, his weight crushing the already shattered glass into dust. He failed to suppress a shiver as the black wing shaped scorch marks danced across the walls in tandem with spurts and splatters of thick red blood. Too many had died here that day. No one had been safe, not even those they had come to see as being almost invincible.

This was a foolish and desperate plain, but Ben didn't care. He had already lost so much—there really was no other option. He had to do this and he had to do it alone.

Amber and Colt would have come with him. Hell, they would probably be pissed when they found out he had gone on without them—they would get over it. It wasn't a free ride and it was not a price Ben would let them pay. Not this time. Not ever.

A figure stood in the center of what had once been the library. Ben had known the angel long enough to see the grief in his normally stoic face. Part of Ben's heart went out to the man but another much larger part reminded him that the angel hadn't been the only one to lose people. He wasn't the only one who suffered.

"Alright Cas, let's get this bitch over with." Ben said rubbing his hands together. Things like this were a bit like pulling out a bullet: best done quickly.

"I'm not comfortable with this."

"Let's just get it over with." Ben insisted again.

"If Dean were here—"

"But he's not," Ben took a moment to calm down. Cas had spent too much time playing guardian angel to the Winchesters for intimidation to work. He was going to have to try a different tactic.

"Look if you want to back out that's fine with me, but I'm not giving up and when I find another way back, it may be even more dangerous. Besides, when I fix this whole mess it will be like it none of it ever happened. No one will die and life can go back to the way it was supposed to be."

"But the cost…"

"I know and that's why I have to do this alone."

Ben watched as the angel's trench coated shoulders took on distinct sag. Cas knew he was right; Ben had won this argument.

"That's sweet, but did you really think I would let you do this suicide mission without me?" a voice said from over his shoulder. Somehow Amber had managed to sneak up on him. Again. Either he was losing his touch or he just let his guard get dangerously low around her.

"How did you find me?"

"I know you, Ben. There is no way in hell you would give me the right time or place for something like this so I tracked the GPS in your cell phone."

Ben could feel the corner of his lips tug upwards in a weary smile. So the stress of the last few months was making him lose his touch.

"I'm not going to let you—"

"Oh? Last time I checked I was a big girl. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. You can't _let_ me do anything." Her eyes had a hard set to them that told Ben that no matter how hard he fought her he wouldn't win. Not this fight.

A small part of him—a part he wanted to burry deep down—knew she had lost just as much in the attack even if they hadn't been her blood.

"We really don't have time for this." Cas was getting antsy which could only mean something was coming. Something big and dangerous.

"The time period you are going my past self won't be able to help you. So if you need help you know who to call. Good luck."

As two pail fingers reached out to touch the travelers on the forehead Ben noticed a face pressed against the only intact window. Colt. Only he could blend a look of betrayal and vindication so well. It was in that moment that Ben knew the kid had something up his sleeve; he, like Amber, wouldn't be tricked quite so easily.

* * *

Colt wanted to scream. That stupid bastard!

He sank down, his back against the ruff brick of the dilapidated structure and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from crying.

There were things Ben didn't know about what they were facing—things he couldn't possibly know—things that would damn him. It didn't help that Ben had a particular habit of running into a situation with a half-assed plain.

This couldn't end well and Colt would be damned if Ben and Amber were going to pay for his mistakes. They didn't deserve that…

"Oh…a pity party!" said a mocking voice from behind him. Colt didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Bite me, Gabriel." Colt hissed, pulling an almost obscenely thick leather bound journal from his bag and setting in on the floor in front of him.

"Maybe when you're legal, big boy."

Colt didn't bother to roll his eyes. He was too busy thumbing through the pages, praying for an answer he knew he would not find.

The bad thing about angles, though—besides their chronic doucheiness—was that they kind of always heard peoples prayers…even if they weren't addressed to anyone in particular.

"You're going to do something stupid, aren't you kid?"

Gabriel sighed when Colt didn't answer. The kid didn't have to say a word; his silence spoke volumes.

"Of course you are."

For the first time, Colt looked up and gave the angel a weary little smile. "I have to," he said holding up his wrist as if to prove a point. "It's in my blood."

Gabriel stared at the sigil, half branded and half inked onto his skin, and sighed. There was nothing he could do to stop him short of locking him in a TV set or some sort of reality loop. And truth be told, Colt wasn't sure the angel even wanted to stop him. After all, Colt wasn't the only one to lose something when Sanctuary fell.

"I know you understand, Gabe," he said his childlike blue eyes wide with guilt, "to fuck up. To do something so horrible that it will haunt your life forever. You still have the scars, right?"

Gabrial's face tightened, but he said nothing and let the boy continue.

"It's my fault and they shouldn't have to pay the price for it. Besides," Colt said, his face breaking into an ironic little smile, "Ben's not really all that good with planning ahead. Chances are he'll go to Cody first and then they will try and go straight to the Winchesters and you and I both know about how well that will turn out."

"You're really going to do this?"

Colt nodded, looking back down at the pages of the book. "One way or the other."

Gabrial sighed.

"Alright, I'll send you back, but you're not going alone."

Colt looked up in surprise.

"You're coming with me?" He didn't bother hiding the note of relief in his voice. Having an archangel on his side might make all the difference.

"Oh no big boy. Can't. There are rules and not the kind you can get away with breaking if you are hot enough. But I do know someone who may be willing to help."

Colt tilted his head to the side in curiosity, wracking his brain trying to figure out who he might be talking about.

With a snap of his fingers, the angel answered the question before he even got a chance to ask.

"Charlotte?"

The girl looked at him and turned, slowly facing Gabe. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how she got here, but Colt knew there were more answers she was waiting for.

"What am I doing here?"

"I've got to save Ben's ass from doing something stupid as he tries to clean up my mess. Want to come?"

She gave a bitter little chuckle, like she didn't really have a choice.

"Well, someone has to make sure your ass stays out of the fire, don't they?"

* * *

_2013_

_Mayfield, Idaho _

Dean sat by the window of the crap motel and poured himself his fifth scotch of the morning. Sam was out on one of his runs and they hadn't heard so much as a whisper of a hunt since that demon they took care of in Delaware.

They had tried tracking down Kevin, but he had to admit the kid was good. There hadn't been so much as whisper of the kid's location in months and every possible lead had long dried up, leaving Dean and Sam to fill their time elsewhere.

For the last few months, the dead times between hunts had become almost unbearable for him. Those times where there was nothing going bump in the night drove him crazy. Every sound reminded him of _there_—of purgatory—and even now he had yet to let his guard down enough to actually rest.

And that's where the alcohol came in. It wasn't the first time he had tried to drowned his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle, but that had been a long time ago, back when the world was ending and everything rested on his shoulders…and Sammy's.

"So can I join this pity party or is it invitation only?"

There, leaning against the archway to the room's kitchenette, was a kid. He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen with dark hair and blue-green eyes. But there was something about the mischievous set of his face that told Dean that the kid was a lot older then he looked.

He crossed the small room in just a few steps and took the seat opposite Dean.

"Do you mind?" The kid asked, motioning to the half-finished bottle of scotch. Without even giving Dean a chance to tell him to go fuck himself, the kid poured himself a generous amount and took a sip.

"Who are you?" Dean snapped. With all that was going on in his life right now, the last thing he wanted right now was having to deal with some snot nosed angel kid.

"My name is one of those pre-biblical ones that are just a pain in the ass to pronounce right, especially for Americans. You can call me Cory." the angel smirked at him over his glass.

"You supposed to be our new guardian angel or something?" the words hurt to say; each one brought his thoughts back to someone he was trying extremely hard to forget.

"Don't worry, I'm just a temp." Cory made a noise half-way between a snort and a laugh. Dean raised his eyebrows. There was something seriously off about this kid. Angels only came in two flavors: Smiter Barbie and Clueless Ken. And this kid didn't fit in either mold.

"How did you find me?" Dean asked careful to show neither interest nor desperation. Cory smirked and for a second Dean wondered if it was worth breaking his hand trying to punch him.

"I have my ways. Getting around the marks on your ribs is easy if you know how."

"What do you want?" Dean slammed his empty glass back on the table and poured himself another generous glass.

"I need your help—" Cody began but Dean cut him off.

"No. I'm done. Heaven can go to hell for all I care."

The kid's eyes narrowed and his voice lost any pretext of civility. "Heaven's not asking for help, I am. Without your help the Nephilim will die—an entire race of beings will be whipped out of existence."

"And I should care about this why?"

Cody tilted his head sideways in the same way Cas did when he didn't quite understand some reference or something. Dean didn't see what the problem was; it wasn't like he was speaking Greek. Come to think of it, that probably wouldn't matter much.

"Because it's your job."

"My job is to save humans from monsters or ghosts or anything else that goes bump in the night, not the other way around. If it ain't human it's not my problem; let them burn."

Dean watched the kid's face grow from shock to disgust. Cody stared into his drink as he swirled it around. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet Dean's and suddenly Dean found himself grateful that angels couldn't kill with a look or he would have had a one way ticket back to hell.

"I can't make you do anything—free will is the new black, after all—and I'm not sure I would even if I could. But just remember that I came to you for help and it was you that said to let them burn," the angel hissed before disappearing into nothingness.

The kid's glass hit the side of the table as it fell before shattering against the floor.

* * *

_Medfield, Origen 2013_

Ben sat in a plastic folding chair just outside the RV he and Amber had 'borrowed.' The trailer park they had set up camp in wasn't the best place for stargazing, but it still gave him enough peace to think.

This entire situation was just too fucked up. Going back in time on the off chance that he would be able to fix everything without screwing things up any further was a desperate plain. Even he knew that, but what else did he have. This was all too big for a crossroads deal and it was all too big for him to do by himself. A part of him was glad Amber had come with him despite the cost but that didn't mean all the team jerseys were full just yet.

Ben hated being underhanded, especially when it came to dealing with those he cared about and respected but there was just no way he could show up on Dean's doorsteps and explain the situation. Even if he somehow managed to convince him that he wasn't a shapeshifter or some other kind of trick, it would still be too dangerous. If there were things that future Dean couldn't accept about him then past Dean sure as hell wouldn't be any better.

A warm pair of arms snaked around his shoulders and placed a cold beer in his hands.

"Come on inside. Dinner's ready and I even bought some pie for desert," Amber whispered into his hair her hot breath tickling his ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine.

"You sure know the way to a man's heart."

"I know it's not just through his stomach…" she let the thought trail off as her hand slid lower leaving nothing suggestive about her meaning, "but the after pie desert will have to wait. At least until after our guest leaves. Now it's time to talk shop."

"Guest?"

Amber nodded her head towards the thick line of trees that marked the end of the park. Cody stood there silently watching them. Ben had to give the kid credit, most of the angels he had dealt with had a bad habit of literally popping in unannounced, but this one at least tried to give them personal space.

"He said no."

Ben felt his jaw drop. There was no way Dean would have ignored a call for help like that. It just wasn't in him.

Amber, on the other hand didn't seem surprised.

"What did he say exactly?"

"He said, and I quote," he began before imitating Dean's deep timber "If it's not human then it's not my problem."

"I take it you didn't explain the entire situation to him?" Amber said, guessing the answer long before the question even left her lips.

"He didn't exactly give me a chance."

Amber and Ben shared a loaded look. As much as Ben admired Dean, he would be the first to admit that he could be nothing but stubborn and judgmental at times.

"Great. Now what are we going to do?" Ben muttered.

"We're going to go inside where this conversation is a little more private. Then we are going to get some grub and have a little pow-wow. The Winchesters aren't our only option. Besides it's probably better this way; David knows how we think. If we have to get creative then he's less likely to guess our next move."

"You're not wrong." Ben acquiesced,

"I never am."


	2. This Guilty Blood

Silver Side Up

Chapter Two:

This Guilty Blood

_Athens, Georgia 2013_

"Kokabiel, it's good to see you." A soft voice said from the corner of the dark basement bedroom Cody now called home.

Cody smiled, but did not bother looking up from the book on his desk. Although Samandiriel was now in the vessel of a pimply-faced wiener hut employee, Cody recognized his brother instantly. He could not deny the small twinge of joy that warmed within him. It had been a long time since he had seen any of his family—at least besides the ones who were punished alongside him—and it felt like home.

"Do I detect a bit of Irony in your word?" He asked, turning the page as he summoned the celestial silver of his blade, all the while carefully keeping the weapon hidden beneath the wood of his desk.

"No. Should there be?"

Cody laughed at the innocence in his brother's voice. He had forgotten just how beautifully naive his family could be…at least when they weren't dead set on killing each other.

"I must say, though," Samandiriel continued, not bothering to hide his discomfort. "I am curious as to how you escaped."

Cody raised an eyebrow, turning around to face the other angel.

"Really? So are you here to kill me? If I'm a fugitive then are those not your orders?" Cody couldn't completely hide the note of bitterness in his voice. He had hoped that he would be granted a bit more of a reprieve before the blood bath began, but it would appear that was not to be.

All angels are soldiers and every part of him that could not forget that one fact was screaming in his ears. If it was kill or be killed, then was it not wiser to strike first? But too much of him longed for the olden days—when he was at peace with his brothers—to destroy one of them unless it was absolutely necessary. There was still a chance, no matter how slight, that it may not come down to that.

"If those were my orders, then I would not have come alone. You always were the better fighter."

Perhaps Cody had been living amongst the humans too long, for he did not even try to stop the child-like grin from spreading across his face…but he did not drop the sword.

"None of us escaped, Samandiriel. We were banished to hell for caring—feeling—too much, and that is where we were damned to stay until judgment day. Well judgment day has come and gone and just because humanity was not found as wanting as many assumed they would be does not change the fact that the day had come."

"So you have all been freed?"

Cody looked down. Of all the things for his brother to ask…

"All of us that persevered, yes." He whispered, his eyes returning to his book but he might as well have been staring at the wall for all the words he actually read.

"Ah—"

"Why are you here?" Cody asked, weary, trying desperately to keep Samandiriel from continuing along that path. There were somethings he just did not want to talk about.

Samandiriel looked down and, had he been human, Cody knew he would be shuffling his feet.

"I heard you went to see Sam and Dean earlier today."

Cody gave an amused little snort. It had taken them this long to come and find him? Things must be worse than he thought. "Actually, it was more like Dean. Sam wasn't there and I decided it was best not to linger."

"They need to concentrate on finding the prophet. Only with his help can they close the gates of hell for all eternity. Surely you understand why the nephilim do not take priority." Cody could hear the contrition in Samandiriel's and that was the only thing keeping Cody from losing his temper. The angel honestly believed what he was saying, that it was best and, had Cody not been so close to the issue—had not known everything he knew, he could _almost _see his brother's side on this.

But the truth was, Samandiriel was just a middle man on this one. Even if the orders didn't come from higher up (just who was running heaven now, anyways?), Samandiriel would only have part of the story.

"The truth is Samandiriel, the world's going to need them now more than ever. Especially if the Winchesters succeed."

* * *

_Unknown 2013_

"I don't like this."

Colt rolled his eyes at his friend. He didn't like it either, but there wasn't a lot of option. Ben didn't know what the hell he was doing—he rarely did—and Colt had even accepted the fact that Amber had thrown all sensibilities out the window and went along with this crusade, but they did not know what he did. They couldn't really fix this, not when they were only trying to treat the symptoms of their broken world.

"I know Char, but you can't be here. You know how angels are. It can be hard enough getting them to talk to a human…"

Charlotte furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "But it's Ram and Sari."

"These won't be the same people as they are in our time. For all we know, they're the smite-first-ask-questions-later kind of angels."

"All the more reason for me to be here," she insisted. "You do the research and I do the fighting. That's why we make such a good team."

"Not this time, Char," he whispered softly.

"Why does it have to be you?" She asked, her voice growing more forceful with every word.

Colt looked up at her with an infinite sadness in his eyes, a sadness that seemed to add centuries to him. "Someone has to."

"You've had this chip on your shoulder since—"

"Please, Charlotte" he said cutting her off, "I've done a lot for you—some would say more then I should have—but I've never regretted it and I didn't do so you would owe me or anything, but if that means anything to you, you'll listen."

He felt like a douche bringing that up, the last thing he wanted was to hold that over her head, but he really had no other option. Colt had to get her away. He just couldn't bring himself to risk it. Not like this.

"Alright," she whispered, the broken tone of her voice making Colt feel like a hundred times more of an ass then before. "I guess…I'll go see a movie or something."

They both knew she wouldn't be able to keep her mind off the potential death match happening right here. But that was fine. It didn't really matter what she did, as long as she was far away from here.

Colt sighed, allowing himself just enough time to watch her leave before getting to work.

* * *

Colt cradled his hand to his chest and tried to block out the pain as he studied his handy work. The enochian sigils he had scrawled on the walls had taken more blood then he was comfortable with losing, not that he was worried. He was a hunter born and raised, he had been through worse and knew that as long as he was conscious he was fine…but his vision was getting blurry and he could barely think straight enough to double check his grammar. If he was off by just the smallest percent, this would have all been for nothing.

There was a gentle fluttering sound from behind him and he knew they had come.

"Ramiel, Sariel, you don't know me yet but I'm from the future and I need your help."

The angels looked at each other oddly and Colt's face fell. Was it wrong of him to hop that wouldn't sound as lame coming out of his mouth as it did in his head?

"Look," he continued, not giving them a chance to speak, "I know you can tell I'm not crazy and you know what I am." Colt held up his bloody, shaking hand so that they could see the sigil on the inside of his left wrist.

"The truth is I kind of need you to do something," he whispered.

Both angels narrowed their eyes, obviously not liking his presumptuousness and Colt would have laughed if his mind wasn't going so fuzzy. He had always been told that if there was ever such a thing as a set of twin angels, they would be it. Even their meat suits looked remarkably similar: tall, dark eyes and hair, with a lean and overly muscular build.

But the truth was that Colt knew them in his time and they were big softies (at least as soft as it gets with this particular rank of angels). The only trick was surviving long enough to get on their good side in this time.

"I haven't compelled you," he said, motioning to the enochian on the walls, offering those words as if they were an olive branch. "There's not even signs of protection. I just want to talk."

"Then speak." Ramiel commanded and Colt let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. At least they were going to give him a chance.

"There are dangers things coming and, despite what you might thing, Samyaza is not the worst creature to be released from hell…at least he won't be."

* * *

_Battle Creek, Michigan 2013_

Ben hated moving more than anything. Truthfully, he figured it wouldn't be so bad if he and his mom didn't have so much crap stuffed in random parts of the house. It took forever to pack and unpack, especially the downstairs rooms. They had to wrap all the breakables in newspaper and plastic and make sure everything was neatly grouped together in the right boxes.

Ben had a slightly different approach to packing his own room: if it was one of the few things he cared about, it would go in his book bag and everything else went into whatever box had enough empty space.

His room was almost completely done when he started pulling the junk out from under his bed. There was the same kind of shit every fourteen year old boy had under his bed: dirty cloths, empty chip bags, a few issues of Busty Asian Beauties and a plate of what had once might have been a turkey sandwich, but it was covered in far too much black fur to tell.

There, buried deep in the pile of junk, was a library book, probably a few years overdue. It was odd though, Ben wasn't exactly the reading type. As far as he knew, he didn't even have a library card. It was dusty and tattered, and when Ben picked it up, a single square of white paper fell from between the pages.

It was a photograph of him and an older man about his mother's age, their heads together under the hood of a car. He could see the man's face in the picture and somehow he knew that whoever it was, had not been just one of his mom's boyfriends—the ones that never stick around more than a couple months.

There was a memory there, just below the surface like the world's worst case of deja vu. Ben concentrated, his fingers curling into a fist around the book, trying desperately not to lose the single thread he had connecting him to that memory.

"_Those books are crap, Ben." _

"_But Dean, they sound just like—"_

"_I said they're crap!" _

Dean. So that was the guy's name.

Ben looked down at the book, _Supernatural _scrawled across its cover and shrugged. He had nothing better to do today and, as out of character as it might be for him to admit this, a little bit of reading never killed anyone.

* * *

_Windom, Minnesota 2013_

Angels didn't really tire, not ever, but that didn't stop both Ramiel and Sariel from sinking to the floor with their backs to the wall of the abandoned cabin like a couple of fat kid who had just tried to run a marathon, the moment the wards were in place.

The thing about being an angel was that, no matter how stupid an idea may seem, they couldn't really say no, not like humans could. Angels were created to do what they thought was best—it didn't matter if they were right or wrong. Hell, even Lucifer had honestly believed the crap he was spewing before his fall, which made it all the more tragic.

But an angel could not be selfish, not the same way a human could. Angels could not see a calamity of cosmic proportions in the making and refuse to help simply because it was inconvenient…or downright suicidal.

Perhaps that was the true definition of grace; the inability to turn away from the greater good as a whole.

Or perhaps it was just these particular angels with that particular problem. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Colt had come to them; he knew that, along with being some of the only angels with enough strength to have even the _slightest _chance at success, they also had a soft spot of humanity. A soft spot that had long ago began getting them into trouble.

Either way they still wound up in the same place, watching the dirty and exhausted form sleep on the shelter's single dilapidated cot.

Ramiel stood and walked over to where the boy was sleeping and touched his forehead. His body was easy to heal, merely a bit of flesh and blood. His soul on the other hand…well that was a whole different story.

It was part of an angel's lot in life to know more than most other creatures about how all the pieces of the puzzle worked together and the higher up the latter you were, the more you tended to know.

It was a great secret among the angels, but the one thing that confounded everyone was the odd combination of strength and fragility that was a human soul. The lesser angels assumed their superiors knew more about these shiny balls of light then they really did, and no one corrected them. It was better that way, they rationalized.

This boy had spent four earth years (which was close to four centuries in hell time) in the deepest, darkest pit of hell. He had been tortured in ways inconceivable even to Ramiel, and yet his soul was not shattered. It was broken and scared, but not crushed.

A part of Ramiel hoped that perhaps Michael had something to do with it—the his brother had protected the boy somewhat given the fact that he had no fault in the way things played out, but there was no way of knowing.

Ramiel looked at his brother. Sariel crossed the room and look over the boy as well. No words were necessary; they both could see that neither of them had the strength to heal him—not alone. Together the each placed one finger on his forehead.

Adam's eyes shot open and he was instantly alert.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes darting around the room, looking for a weapon.

"I am Ramiel and this is my brother Sariel. We're angels," Ramiel said, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. What he didn't see, however, was his brother rolling his eyes behind him.

Sariel had never been one to cling to false hope, so he knew that telling the boy what they were wasn't going to help anything. Not really. The only contact Adam had previously had with angels had resulted in being thrown into hell.

"Oh and that makes everything better…what do you want?"

"We raised you from hell…" he began but the boy cut him off.

"I got that but you people don't do shit unless there's something in it for you. What. Do. You. Want?"

"Look," Sariel said, stepping between them, "I get it. Our brothers were douches too you so you don't trust us. That's fair enough. So here's the truth: we don't want anything from you, but you're right, there is an ulterior motive behind this. Let's just say that you NOT being in hell helps our plain. Other than that, we don't really care what you do."

"Your truck's outside with a full tank of gas and a map, complete with a little you-are-here sticker. As far as your school is concerned, you had to take a few years off when your mom died, so that's an option so that's one option.

"There are two things you have to realize though: when we got you out, your soul was in ribbons—which is not healthy, by the way—we did what we could, but not even us can heal all of that. We were able to put up a wall between you and the memories of hell, but there's no guarantee it will be permanent.

"We made it so that you will be able to get the memories a little bit at a time. A release valve, if you will. That way, maybe if or when the wall does fall, you won't be hit with it all at once. Just, for the love of all that' holy, don't scratch at the wall. You don't want those memories and scratching is what screwed your brother up so bad."

"Sam's out?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, but don't worry about that." Sariel said, gripping a much too thick leather jurnal and handing it to him. "One last thing. You've got hunter blood and that makes you a target for just about everything evil in this world, even if they don't realize it. There's no way you can escape that—they will be drawn to you."

Sariel plopped the journal down on the bed next to him and continued, "So I suggest you study. Trust me, that's a lot more than most hunters get to start out with."

And with that and a gentle rustling of wings, the angels were gone as if they had never really been.


	3. Michael Vick is a Douchebag, Part One

Silver Side Up

Chapter Three:

Michel Vick is a Douchebag, Part One

Cory stood at the top of the hill and looked down on the clearing around him. This was the last thing he wanted to do—consign so many to their deaths—and yet he had no other option. Nephilim were going to die. Plain and simple. The only thing he could do was try and save as many as possible…even if that meant paint a big red target on their backs.

This spell had not been easy to organize—then again that was kind of the point, if it had been easy the nephilim would have been whipped off the face of the earth long ago. There were several fine points of the spell that he was going to have to leave for later, but he didn't have the time to be patent. Not now.

He studied the symbols carved into the altar and catalogued ever ingredient on the table and how much he had. There was no room for error and he wasn't going to risk it.

An angel doing magic like this felt unnatural; the practice was borderline demonic but he wouldn't have the strength otherwise. He had long ago been severed from heaven, so he could not call upon the divine power it offered those who did its will…and this sure as hell wasn't its will (did heaven even have a will anymore? Now that all the upper management was gone, Cory wasn't exactly sure what was going on with that).

The ironic thing was that, for the past four millennia, the legion of heaven would have been clamoring for an opportunity to do exactly what Cory doing now, but the joke was on them. As much as Cory loved his family, most of them never really understood what Dad had been trying to teach them. If heaven had gotten what it wanted, the entire world would have been damned…

Now Cory just hoped he wasn't doing the same.

He pulled a matchbook from his back pocket and lit one, the smell of burnt wood and sulfur tickling his nose as he breathed. Stepping back, he let the match fall onto the holly oil, the fire dancing as it spelled out the runes.

He sighed and pulled the last ingredients out of his pocket. The flames danced against the glass, illuminating the blood within. Three samples out of twenty weren't enough, not by far, but it was all he could get and even that had been by force.

"What are you doing?" a soft voice asked from behind him. Cory jumped at the noise, he hadn't heard Ramiel approach.

Every instinct told him to draw his sword—that, like almost every other of the Grigori, Ramiel would try and stop him, would do whatever it took to make sure he didn't complete that spell—but he didn't. There really was no point; no matter how good in a fight Cory was, Ramiel had always been more then out of his weight class.

"What does it look like?" he asked, tossing the vials into the fire, before his brother could stop him. If Ramiel was going to kill him, Cory figured he might as well make sure he had completed his mission first.

But Ramiel didn't move. He just stared into the fire, his expression blank. Cory shuffled his feet, wondering just how disappointed Ram was. Even if they were destined to be on different sides on this, he was still Cory's big brother.

Cory's shoulders sagged.

"It was the only thing I could think to do…" he whispered looking at his feet. It was a weak explanation, but that didn't make it any less true.

There was a split second of hesitation between Cory's words and when he dropped the blood into the flames—more than enough time for Ram to stop him—but he made no move to it.

There was a flutter and Cory didn't have to look up to know his brother was gone. The corners of Cory's mouth twitched up in an ironic little smile. For the second time today his brothers had surprised him. He was beginning to wonder if he had grown overly cynical during his years of captivity or if those years had truly changed his family that much. A bit of both, most likely.

"It would seem that today is a day for surprises." He muttered into the wind, not expecting an answer and yet, he couldn't truthfully say he was surmised to hear one.

"Or perhaps you just misjudge too much." Ramel said as he fluttered in behind Cory.

Cory turned to look at the other angel, not even bothering to hide the curiosity in his face.

Ramel held his hand out, palm up offering the contents to Cory. The younger angel stared at the two vials in his brother's hand, but made no move to take them. Had it been anyone else but Ramel, Cory might have thought it all a trick—although he couldn't even guess what the end game might be—but that wasn't in Ram's character. It never had been.

Ram looked down at the objects in his hand and gave a sad little smile.

"This is going to open the door to a lot of bloodshed," he whispered as he looked up.

Cory nodded. "I know, but if you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

"That's the reason I'm here. I don't and three out of twenty isn't enough."

Cory scoffed. "Five out of twenty isn't all the much better."

"Yeah, but seeing as how we are generally more popular then you, we might be able to get some of the rest of them to cough it up without having to result to force. And as good of a fighter as you are Kokabiel, a lot of them are better."

Sariel stepped out from behind the line of trees ringing the hill. Cory had expected him to show up; the twins were rarely out of each other's sight, and yet he was still surprised. He had always imagined this meeting going a bit more bloody for him—especially given what he was trying to accomplish with this spell.

"So you're going to help me?"

Sariel nodded, "A shit storm is coming, and things are going to get bad. Even if we win this one, the world is going to be screwed—it's just a matter of how much."

"So there's no hope?" Cory asked. It was odd, hearing those two talk like this. Of all the ones cast out after the purge—of all the lost—these two had always seemed the more optimistic. It was like to them all the darkness and fires of hell were nothing more than the blackness kissing the sky before dawn. If they were giving up hope…

"There's always hope." Ramel said, tossing the vials into the fire before turning to look at Cory, an almost unnatural hardness to his face, "That is, of course, if we're not shooting ourselves in the foot with this."

"Of course we are," Cory said with an ironic little laugh, "Anything else would be too easy."

* * *

_Marion, Louisiana _

"Agents Johnson and Smith, we're here about the mauling's." Dean said, flashing his fake ID to the receptionist at the Marion county morgue.

The attendant just looked up from the computer screen with blank, almost dead eyes, and popped her gum. Dean smiled, trying to turn on the old Winchester charm, but that had about as much success as chatting up Wednesdays Adams. Looking at her dark clothes and overabundance of piercings, he kind of figured that wasn't too far from the mark.

"That's odd," she muttered, her over-lined eyes dropping back to the farm game she had been playing before they had arrived, "there's already another FBI agent. Don't you people ever talk to each other?"

Dean and Sam shared a look. Either they had the world's worst timing or the best. Despite what they often told small town officials, this wasn't usually the kind of thing the FBI got into. As far as any civilian knew, this was just a rash of wild animal attacks, but the Winchesters knew better. They saw patterns few others would.

This wasn't exactly wolf country. Although it was a small town, it was relatively close to a highway and a good portion of its land mass was in the bayous. Not exactly the kind of place to come across anything but Crocks. And that is what set this small, swampy slice of paradise on their radar.

"Ah...yes…well…" Dean was mentally kicking himself. After how many years on the job, he should have been a lot better at this lying thing. But fortunately for them, the attendant, apparently, had zero interest one way or the other; all she cared about was the virtual farm in front of her.

"They're with me."

Dean turned and his jaw dropped. Whoever this chick was, she had legs for miles and a rack to match; the dirty librarian style pinstriped skirt and blouse didn't hurt, either.

"You're the new transfers, right? The ones Tom Willis sent to get more field experience," she said, motioning for them to follow her down the hall. Every alarm bell in Dean's mind was wringing. Only hunters or something far more sinister would know about Bobby's old FBI alias, and the brother's couldn't afford to assume it was the more pleasant of the two. Especially with Crowley on their asses.

Dean and Sam shared a look and without a word, followed her. As they walked Dean pulled out a flask of holy water out of the inside breast pocket of his suit while Sam reached for Ruby's knife. If Crowley wanted to catch them with their pants down, he was going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.

She led them into the heart of the morgue and, after exchanging a few words with the technician, the three were left alone. The brothers gave the technician a few seconds to get out of ear shot before they pounced. Before the girl had a chance to recognize what was going on, Sam had her pressed against the wall and had the knife to her neck.

To her credit, she didn't scream so it was obvious she was a part of this life one way or the other.

"Who are you?" Sam hollered.

"Knives? We'll that's kinky." She said eyeing the blade, her voice slipping into a deep southern accent, "A gentleman would at least buy me dinner first."

Sam just pressed the blade closer, not quite breaking skin, and she looked at Dean, a hint of fear in her dark eyes.

"I take it that's holy water?" she asked, motioning to the flask in the older brother's hand.

"You're not wrong."

"I never am," she said reaching out for it, "Look, I'm not possessed. You're welcome to test me. Do me a favor there sugar, pour it on my hand. This suit is dry clean only, and we don't want the technician asking questions about why I'm all wet, and not in the way a girl wants to be."

When there wasn't so much as a fizzle when the water touched her skin, Sam let go. The woman didn't even bother hiding her relief, but said nothing about it.

"Who are you?" Sam asked again, this time with less hostility.

The woman rolled her eyes, "The name's Sarah Caldwell, but for right now let's just stick with Agent Maria Cartwright. Keeping up appearances, of course."

"How did you know we were hunters?" Dean asked.

Sarah snorted. "You mean besides the fact that the FBI never really investigates one of these "wild animal" attacks? Your Pa worked a hunt or two with me and mine, back in the day. You two really haven't changed all that much from the picture he used to carry around."

She glanced out the window for a moment and her voice lost all sign of teasing, "It's a shame what happened to him. He was a good man and a better hunter, but I take it I don't have to tell you that."

She slid the tip of her finger between the edge of the knife and her throat, and gently pushed the offending object away.

"Now, are you boys ready to get to work," she asked walking over to the wall of refrigerated cubicles and slid out a single metal slab with the latest of the victims resting on it, "Or are you going to keep pussy-footing around until we all get caught?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. Call him a bit cynical, but he didn't really trust her and didn't really want her here. Too many other hunters had tried to kill him and Sam or had gotten killed while on a hunt with them and Dean was tired of dealing with the bodies and the blood of good people.

"What do we got?" Sam asked, walking over to the slab. They already had the answer, but Sam was testing her, trying to figure out if she was the real deal or just some wanabe. Dean gave a silent little laugh, from what he had seen she was closer to the first. Impersonating an FBI may be child's play, but keeping your cool with a knife to your throat was a bit trickier.

"All six victims were drifters or at least hermits. No real job and no one to report them missing," she said pulling back the sheet, "but the real interesting thing is that they were all werewolves."

That caught their attention.

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked, briefly wondering if he should be rethinking the wanabe assessment from earlier. Everyone knew that, once a werewolf was dead, it looked as human as the rest of them.

She gave them a classic 'are you kidding me' look and rolled her eyes.

"I take it you boys haven't run into one in the last few years?" She smirked and the boys shared a look. What did that matter?

"The rules have changed. Ever since the averted apocalypse in early '10 things are a bit different, but, from what I hear you boys have been a busy with things a bit higher up the food chain then these guys. Now these babies come out to play any night they want to, but they leave something behind when they croak."

Dean wracked his mind for a moment. Hadn't Samuel said something about that when Sam was all soulless?

Sarah picked up the guys hand and held it up so that the other hunters could see the slightly pointed fingernails. They were not enough to catch any real attention unless you knew they were there to begin with, but they were defiantly the remnants of a nasty set of claws.

"There's also a bit of yellow flakes left in their eyes. Most people don't register it as anything unnatural, but we know better."

"Then how did they die? I mean none of these guys were rattling like a change purse and silver to the heart is the only way to kill them." Dean asked.

Sarah shuffled, scratching at a dry patch of skin on the inside of her wrist. "I don't know. I mean each attack destroyed the heart, but there was no sign of silver anywhere."

"Wait a minute, look at this," Sam said motioning to the scars across the man's chest. "It looks like he was attacked by a werewolf but he is one. I've never heard of that. Werewolves are pack animals. It's not uncommon for them to turn those they care about, just so they can be together. This doesn't make any sense."

"And like Sarah said, they're all pretty much loners." Dean said, picking up on his brother's chain of thought.

There was silence for a moment while this sunk in, and then Sarah looked up, clearly disturbed at whatever epiphany she had just had.

"What if that's the point?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"What if the same wolf that changed them is what is hunting them? Like hunting humans wasn't enough of a challenge for it or something?"

There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway and they all knew the attendant was coming back. They were going to have to finish this conversation elsewhere.

"Well it seems we have enough here. We can compare notes at the office." Dean said, back in FBI mode.

"Good, I'm already set up." Sarah said with a smile.

* * *

"I've got nothing." Sam said, tossing the papers down on the table.

Sarah smiled and took a slug from here beer. "You're heart's not in it. I could see that back at the morgue; what I can't tell, however, is if it's just this hunt or hunts in general that have got you all washed out."

Sam sighed, "Am I that obvious?"

"Either that or I'm just that good." She teased but didn't press him.

There was a moment where all they could hear was the buzzing of the ac and the hum of the hotel room's cheap lighting.

"I'm just tired of it all. I've been in this life since before I even knew what it was and the truth is I never wanted it. But every time I think I've gotten away, it drags me back in. All I have ever wanted was a normal life, why is it that's too much to ask?"

Sam couldn't believe how good it felt to get this off his chest. He had said it all before, but Dean wasn't exactly the best at listing, especially when it was something he didn't want to hear.

Every time he mentioned it, Dean had to make him feel like a selfish bastard for wanting something more for himself. It was like that was an unthinkable crime while there were still people in the world that needed saving.

There would always be people that needed saving and Sam was tired of it. If he didn't hunt, people would die but people died every day and it shouldn't fall on his shoulders. Not this time and that was why as soon as they closed hell, Sam was closing this chapter of his life for good.

"You know Sam, I tried normal once," she said setting her beer down, staring directly at him, unblinkingly, unjudgingly.

"I was accepted to the Savannah College of Art and Design and I was going to do the CGI for movies."

"I take it that didn't turn out so well," Sam muttered.

Sarah shrugged. "It was alright. Mostly I just went 'cause that's what my pa wanted—me out of this life so I didn't wind up like my ma, dead before thirty cause some creature got the jump. The classes were fun, but it wasn't like hunting. Something in me missed it. I guess it would be like born on the water living in a land locked place."

"So you left college?" he asked, slightly disappointed that she hadn't in fact been the kindred soul he had first thought.

"No."

He looked up in surprise. "No?"

"I stayed for almost two year—even after my life got a hellva lot more complicated than I ever wanted." Her voice was even, as if her words had no more substance than if she had been talking about the weather, but Sam was more than interested.

"And then what happened?"

Sarah sighed and took a long bitter draft of her beer, as the conversation started to reach the obviously painful parts.

"And then life happened. A hunt. I realized my pa wasn't the kind of man I thought he was, so I no longer had any reason to be what he wanted and I took off. Changed my name and lived the life I wanted to. Haven't seen him since."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't lost on him that her story sounded like the photo negative of his. School, the fight, the hunt; it was all there. And yet here she was, living the exact same kind of life he was. Was there really no escape?

"Normal is a dryer setting, Sam. Nothing more." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she got up to get herself another beer.

"God I hope not," Sam muttered, taking a sip of his own drink. "After all I've been through; I think I've earned a bit of peace."

Sara let out a full bellied laugh at that one. "Since is life interested in giving you what you want or what you feel you've earned?"

* * *

Dean couldn't have been more glad to be back at the hotel. He had been getting too many odd looks as he just about cleaned out the silver from the local pawnshops. There were going to be dealing with a pack's worth of those mutts, whether or not the pooches were hunting each other. The bullets they had in the trunk weren't going to be enough and it was better to be safe than sorry.

With the three of them working together it wouldn't take long to melt this stuff down.

"God damn it, Sammy!" He yelled as he opened the door, "I so did not want to see that!"

Sam pushed Sarah off of him and scrambled to pull the covers around them. Sarah didn't seem to care one way or the other though, she just let out a deep laugh, as if this was the most fun she had had all night.

"Great timing Winchester, you're welcome to join us." Sam couldn't tell if she was being serious or not, but he didn't really care.

"No, no he's not." He snapped before Dean could say a word.

With a thump Sarah fell out of the bed, clutching her sides as she laughed harder. Her laugh wasn't the only thing hard as he got a firsthand view of just how bendy she could be.

"I can't tell if you boys are the most fun I've had in a while or just big sticks in the mud." She said, sighing as she twisted herself out of the odd position she had fallen into. Slowly she picked up her cloths and Dean was sure she was making a show out of it just to fuck with him. Okay, maybe that was not the best choice of words…but still. She was not making it easy on him.

Sarah tossed Sam his pants as she zipped up her own. Still topless, she grabbed a beer off the table and tipped it towards the brothers in a mock salute.

"To missed opportunities."

As the liquid touched her lips she gasped and clutched her wrist, sinking to her knees with pain. She wasn't the only one. Both brothers were feeling the same thing. It was like something was slowly and surely burning itself into their skin, their bones, and even deeper.

After a moment, it was all over, the pain gone as if it had never been. In its place, however, was a sigil, about two inches and half burned, half inked onto the skin.

Only one thing came to Dean's mind as he stared at his wrist.

"What the hell?"

* * *

AN: quick note guys. That line about the rules changing was not me pulling things out of my ass. The brothers haven't had to really deal with it much, but it was mentioned in the first episode of season six that the rules had changed. I'm assuming that, because we haven't been told otherwise, that still holds true. I really dislike changing Cannon. So if something like the rule change shows up, then I probably have a good justification for it.


End file.
